


Mandatory Vacation

by HeyMurphy



Series: Managing Pickles [2]
Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Injury Recovery, M/M, Soft Sexual Content, Whump, kind of a blowjob but not really, murderface being his insensitive self sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23409055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy
Summary: After a bad accident, Charles is overeager to get on with his work. Pickles has other plans for him...
Relationships: Charles Foster Offdensen/Pickles the Drummer
Series: Managing Pickles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683898
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Mandatory Vacation

Toki put the finishing touches on his drawing and straightened up, smiling. “Now evens when you’s stucks in your room, Dethklok stills be rights here with yous.” 

The other members of the band leaned over to inspect the Sharpie doodle, which wasn’t very good, Pickles thought, but a cast wasn’t exactly the easiest canvas. Toki had attempted to capture the likenesses of each of them and had instead sort of mashed them all together into shapeless black scratchings that might’ve been Dethklok if you knew what you were looking at. But he seemed pretty happy with the outcome, so no one said anything.

Charles grimaced through his split lip. “That’s, ah, very kind of you, Toki. Thank you.”

Their manager sat propped up in his own bed with a handful of pillows supporting him, glasses nowhere to be seen. His right leg was immobilized in plaster and rested atop another pillow, peeking out from his robe like the thigh-high slit in an evening gown. Pickles didn’t exactly _want_ to leer at the poor bastard right that moment, but damn, he couldn’t help it. Charles was probably the only guy on the planet who could get himself chewed up in a car accident and come out still looking like Gary fucking Cooper, road rash and all.

“So, boys,” Charles started, “obviously it’s going to be a little difficult for me to get around over the next few weeks, so I’m going to need all of you to help me out, okay? I really need you to—”

“Oh!” Murderface jumped. “ _I’m_ doing the groschery shopping while you’re crippled! Called it. That’sch mine.”

Toki’s eyes went wide. “I wants to do laundrys! I cans even folds ‘em, too!”

Charles tried to protest. “Guys, no, that’s not—”

“I can mow the yard I guess,” Nathan offered with a grumble. “But only if we get one of those badass fucking riding mowers that’s like six in one. I wanna be able to fucking run people over while I do it or else I won’t do it.”

“I’ll add that to my shopping lischt,” said Murderface, taking Toki’s Sharpie and writing on his arm.

“Guys, seriously—”

“Cookings,” said Skwisgaar, cutting Charles off. “Dat’s whats ams goings to do. Proballys not dat hard. Just reads a book, ah? Watch de cake shows?”

“But we already got Jean-Pierre for cooking,” said Nathan.

Skwisgaar pondered for a moment and Charles took that opportunity to say, “What I’m trying to tell you is that if you could all _please_ just—”

“Dens I cans vaksyums all de corpspets!”

Charles threw his head back in the pillows. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“Doods,” Pickles said, finally deciding to come to the man’s rescue, “we’re fuckin’ richer than gahd. Why d’ya think we got all those slaves? _They_ do all that domestic fuckin’ boring crap. Ahffdensen does all that _other_ fuckin’ boring crap, like phone calls ‘n taxes.”

Charles groaned and rubbed at his bruised eyes. “Yes, that’s what I got my masters for, Pickles. Phone calls and taxes.” He sighed. “Look, the biggest way you all can help me is by just being careful and being safe. All right? Think about consequences and make good choices. I’m not going to be able to come running at every little problem anymore, so the less I have to worry about and clean up after, the better. Do you all understand? Please nod your heads so I know you understand.”

The five of them nodded and muttered half-hearted apologies like scolded children. One by one they filed out of the bedroom to get on with the morning, until only Pickles strayed behind.

Charles reached for his hand and slipped their fingers together. “Thank you.”

“Hey, no prob. Dontcha worry, chief, I know how ta talk ta these guys. I’ll try ta keep ‘em from burning tha place down while ya heal up.”

“I appreciate that.” Charles shifted to get more comfortable. “Could you, ah, do me a small favor while you’re still here?”

“Totally.”

“There’s a folding desk under the bed, and my laptop’s just there on the sofa, if you don’t mind getting them for me.”

“Ohh,” Pickles huffed. “Actually, yeah, uh. No. I’m not doin’ that.”

Charles probably wanted to look pissed, but with all the bruising he just looked sad. “And why is that exactly?”

“‘Cause I know ya do a helluva lot more than phone calls ‘n taxes, dood. Like, a _lot_ more. Ya don’t need ta be busy right now. Yer all beat ta shit ‘n ya can’t even fuckin’ walk. The universe is tryin’ ta tell ya ta chill the fuck out ‘n take some time off.”

“Oh, yes, some vacation _this_ would be,” Charles said with uncharacteristic petulance. “Stuck on my back, in _far_ too much pain to sleep, with _no_ work to do.”

Pickles kissed the fingers still wound between his and slid into bed beside Charles. “I’ll give ya some work ta do on yer back, chief.” Charles cleared his throat, going pink immediately, and reached up to fiddle with the glasses he wasn’t even wearing. Jesus, that was cute. Pickles snickered and brushed the robe aside to tickle the dark hairs along the inside of his manager’s uninjured thigh. 

Charles shivered. He was so easy. “But Pickles—”

“Hey, shh—”

“I really should be—” 

“No, nuh-uh, hush yer busted fuckin’ mouth. I’m gonna take care’a ya, awright?”

Charles acted like he might object further, but finally slumped into the pillows. “All right, I’ll...try to relax. But after this you’re bringing me my laptop.”

Pickles considered this a victory, however small. He untied the robe, kissing the wealth of chest hair and nuzzling Charles’ stomach. He stopped and thumbed gingerly at a few particularly unsettling bruises, then continued south to put his lips on the soft black fabric over Charles’ erection. 

He freed Charles from his boxer briefs and welcomed him into his mouth, being nice and slow about it, not wanting to bang him up any more than he already was. After a minute or so he heard Charles’ breath catch and then even out, deepening, getting heavier. Was he close already? Pickles peeked up at him.

Nope, he’d fallen asleep. When had that happened? He seemed pretty peaceful, though, with his loose hair splayed across the pillow, the tense lines around his eyes smoothed out. He’d be healing for months, but at least right now, with Pickles, he wasn’t hurting.

Pickles put Charles back in his underwear, tucked him into bed. He kissed the man’s brow and his heart swelled with gooey, unmetal affection. “Sleep good ya poor fuckin’ broken angel.”

He swiped Charles’ laptop off the couch and took it with him when he left. He had phone calls and taxes to take care of.

\m/


End file.
